


there's an old voice in my head that's holding me back (tell her I miss our little talks)

by VolxdoSioda



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gen, Mention of Canonical Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 18:19:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15734841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: He dreams he’s back in that hallway, but it’s not Tom Jones holding him as he’s dying.In the aftermath the team scatters again, but Scout stays behind, unable to face his demons quite yet. What do you say to a man that’s been loathing you for two years, and avoiding you for much longer than that?Scout, and navigating a truth he can’t ignore.





	there's an old voice in my head that's holding me back (tell her I miss our little talks)

_ “Your father disappears often.” _

 

_ “The man’s in his twenties, Scout!” _

 

_ “I dropped a ‘sex bomb’ on your mother twenty-seven years ago, and ran away--” _

 

_ “--playing the long game--” _

 

_ “--got me pretty good, ehehe. I’ll get up here in a minute, just--” _

 

_ “I’m proud of you.” _

 

**_Just don’t go, yeah?_ **

 

Scout wakes up.

 

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

 

In the aftermath, the whole team needs time to get their shit together. So it’s not a terrible surprise when, literal moments after Pauling clears them all for vacation time, they scatter to the four winds like kicked dandelion seeds. It would be funny if the news that they’re the last Team of Echelon, Vanguard and Citadel isn’t weighing on all their minds. The Gravel Wars might be over, but that doesn’t mean the Administrator isn’t done pulling strings, for better or worse. 

 

And Fortress isn’t exactly… up to snuff, by most people’s standards. At least that’s one thing Classic got right; they’re the rejects. They click well despite it, but up against one of the other Teams? They don’t even reach to their shoes.

 

Scout watches everyone leave, and part of him wants to go back to Boston so he can demand answers from his Ma, but also so he can walk the streets at 3 AM and get in back alley fights with boys twice his size, and eat food that’s so greasy even the grease has grease in it. But the rest of him is just… tired. Bone-deep, soul-achingly tired. He doesn’t mind helping Pauling out if she needs it, and honestly maybe going home right now isn’t the best choice. He’s got too much baggage right now, too many emotions clashing in his head.

 

Contrary to popular belief, he’s not completely stupid. He’s grown up in the South side of Boston, running with his brothers. You tend to see shit when you do that, and the older Jeremy got the more trouble he found. He’s known for a while something ain’t exactly square between him and Spy, but he’s never exactly known what. 

 

And yeah, the shitty stabbing bastard and he have had a few moments of peace. Spy mentioning that his bat looks like it needs a replacement, or him returning a knife Spy dropped, or them sharing a laugh over someone else’s stupidity. But the hostility has always been there, from the very moment they set eyes on each other. Something about Spy rubbed him the wrong way, and evidently Spy felt similar when they first met. 

 

It’s easier to hate the man than to get along with him, easier to just let their personalities clash than to make the effort of trying to maintain peace. Even now, he wants to say that’s the truth. Except it isn’t, not really. 

 

Not now that he knows Spy is...well. He is what Scout spent so many years telling himself Tom Jones was. What happened back there in that place is proof of that. Because unless Tom Jones is an alien, there’s no way he could have been in that hallway. There’d only been him, and Sniper and Spy, and out of the three only  _ one  _ man had the ability to shift-change and tell Scout what he wanted to hear in his last dying moments. 

 

And hadn’t that been a shock too? To see the raw  _ pain  _ etched onto their faces at the sight of him, the utter despair, the  _ knowing  _ that they were looking at a dead man and there was nothing they could do? Given his relationship with the rest of the team as the runt of the litter and the idiot, he’d been expecting mockery, or maybe even them running right past him and ignoring him. 

 

Not...not what he’d gotten. Kindness, and stark truth, and genuine sorrow. And even now, Sniper maintains that kindness. He’s still the same rough truth-speaker he’s always been, but there’s a hint of gentleness to it when he deals with Scout now. As if he’s afraid any word made too sharp will destroy him for good. Scout’s not going to lie, given everything that’s going on right now? That is  _ really  _ appreciated. Sniper probably knows it too, and he’ll probably keep on it until Scout gets his feet under him and has enough energy to go charging into the fray again.

 

And as for Spy…

 

Well.

 

He wants to say it’s been peaceful, now that the air’s been cleared, vulnerability shown. But it hasn’t. It hasn’t been tense or hostile between them, but it’s been… disquieting. No words, no acknowledge of the other’s presence when they’ve been at base or on the ride there. They’ve sat next to each other, across from each other, and both of them pretend the other doesn’t exist. 

 

There’s no way to hold off a discussion of this type. Not forever. But hold it  _ back _ for a few extra hours? Just until they figure out what the hell -  _ how  _ \- to maneuver what their world has become? Both of them are seizing what they can get with greedy hands, unsure how to approach this tenebrous subject, now knowing how they’ll be met if they’re the first to extend a hand out. 

 

Scout thinks it would probably have gone easier if he were angry. If he could get angry, and stay that way at a man that abandoned him and his Ma and his siblings. Except Spy never  _ proper  _ abandoned them. Especially not… not his Ma. Never his Ma. The photos (and seriously,  _ fuck  _ whoever thought taking pictures of Spy with his Ma and then showing them to his  _ kid  _ was fucking  _ funny _ . For one, he didn’t need to fucking see that shit, and for two, whatever goes on behind their doors is their business. Not his, not anyone else’s, and if Scout ever figures out who stalked his parents, he’s going to  **_break faces_ ** ) tell that much. Spy still loves his Ma, which softens the blow, somewhat.

 

Which means more than likely, he’s been around while they were growing up. He’ll need to check the baby chests when he gets home, but. If Spy’s actually been around, there’ll be things missing. Things added. Things he wouldn’t have taken notice of before. And Spy probably won’t bother covering his tracks at this point. To do so would disrespect Scout, imply he’s too stupid to see what’s right in front of him.

 

Stubborn, bullheaded, proud? Yes to all three. But not stupid, for all that he likes to play that personality trait up sometimes. He’s pretty sure the entire team knows he isn’t as dumb as he likes to act. And Spy’s never been one to underestimate anyone.

 

Which brings them back to the matter of how this needs to get handled. As much as Scout might want to just… charge into this, he can’t. It has to be handled carefully, all routes made open and available the entire time. For now, even a handful of answers would work, starting steps on the way to possible progress. They can get into the deeper things later. But for right now, they need to test the waters, find out if they can even begin to pretend like everything’s alright, and he and Spy haven’t been trying to kill each other for the last two years.

 

Scout isn’t Engineer or Soldier, or even Medic. He can’t make battle plans off the top of his head. But he’s got time. Time to sit, and think, and work with Miss Pauling to get this whole shit-show going again, and the next time he and Spy cross paths he’ll have something ready. An olive branch to extend.

 

He just hopes Spy is willing to give him an opportunity to at least try.

 

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

 

It takes Scout exactly three days being alone on base with Miss Pauling for him to discover a couple things about himself. 

 

The first is that the crush he thought he was housing on the woman is in fact, not a crush, but a whole lot of admiration wrapped up on itself. This only becomes apparently when he watches her, in a fit of paperwork-induced rage, heft a ninety-pound desk up by herself and throw it halfway across the room. It’s certainly a shocking moment, just just because Pauling has always been put together to some degree, but also because he gets the mental image of his Ma in his head at that particular moment, and makes a solemn vow never to introduce Pauling to her. They’d hit it off like oil and fire, and he doesn’t need two women capable of murdering him in his life commiserating over all of his misdeeds and stupid moments. They might just decide he’s not worth it.

 

The second thing he discovers is that being alone for ninety-nine percent of his day is cathartic, in its own way. He walks the base and the grounds, chews bubblegum and pokes around in everyone’s rooms. He finds several neat little hideaway spots in the walls, build just big enough for one person, and several more weapons caches hidden throughout the base. Most of the weapons are explosives or guns, but a few are butterfly knives, or familiar-looking watches and cigarette cases. Clearly, Soldier, Demoman and Spy are on the same wavelength when it comes to hidey-holes.

 

He does end up taking one of the extra butterfly knives, for no particular reason other than sheer whim.

 

Pauling’s got a thousand and one little things that need doing around base, so the knife goes into his pocket and stays there for a bit. Most of the things she has him doing around base are small - getting her this or that item, checking something in person on the other side of the base for her, bringing her a swig of whiskey to help ease the headaches. It should rankle him, but if anything running around doing odd jobs is even more carthetic than walking around by himself.

 

Maybe this is what the beginning of healing feels like, he thinks, and resolves to help Pauling out until the bitterest of fucking ends.

 

“Scout, can you--” She gestures towards the rickety stack of books currently pretending to be a table, and the coffee pot and chipped cup perched on top. 

 

“Yeah, I got it.” He grimaces when he finds the pot cold and goes to start her a fresh batch. The times when she sleeps are few and far between, at least as far as he’s seen - coffee and whiskey are the only two things she’s surviving on right now, although she does eat the sandwiches he slides to her now and again. She doesn’t complain about him treating her like an invalid - probably because she recognizes just how far up shit creek they both are. 

 

She hands him a list the day after that - and it’s a  _ very  _ long list. Unravels all the way to the floor it does, and ain’t that something?

 

“Keepin’ me busy?” he asks, as he rerolls it all back up. Best to start at the top, just like he would with the chore list from his Ma. 

 

Pauling smiles tightly, but her eyes are bright with satisfaction. Her glasses are resting on her head, the desk she’s commandeered from the Administrator’s room buried beneath new levels of paperwork. “I’ve seen you pacing circles on the cameras. I figure this is a safe bet to keep you entertained until the others come back. Please try not to make  _ too  _ much of a mess.”

 

And yeah, once when the Administrator was still alive she probably wouldn’t have trusted him with this level of help. But back in those days, she was still under the impression her team was one giant clusterfuck, and he was convinced he was immortal. They’ve both learned since then.

 

He cheekily salutes her as he heads out the door. “I’m gonna blow up every barrel of nitro we got, Miss Pauling.”

 

“Then I hope you like paperwork, because after I collapse from the stress, you’ll be the only one left to do it!” she calls after him.

 

He laughs, and for the first time since this whole mess started, it feels real. 

 

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

 

The List, as he dubs it in his head, is daunting but not impossible. It’s certainly designed to keep him busy - most of it covers aspects he’s never touched before, let alone thought about. The first one is kind enough to at least ease him into the whole thing, and Pauling hasn’t turned the wifi off of base, so he can google what he needs to know.

 

_ Maintenance all weapons on base; refill cartridges and stocks as needed. Notify me if we need to order in anything. _

 

He takes care of his own cache of things first, simply because cleaning his bats and guns takes a lot less time, given how long he’s been doing it. He always keeps at least ten of everything on backup in the weapons vault, simply because of how nasty some of the fights between Red and Blu have gotten over the years. 

 

That done, he moves on to the scatterguns, shotguns, and rifles. The scatterguns are easy enough, shotguns are practically a cakewalk. But the sniper rifles? Those he grimaces at, because all the online forums he’s reading tell him that if even a single thing is out of whack when the gun fires, it’ll throw the whole thing off and ruin the gun. He doesn’t think Sniper will appreciate coming back to guns that don’t work properly, especially given his job is literally to cover their asses on the field. 

 

Those take him an entire day to do, and he goes to sleep with a crick in his back from where he’s spent all day leaning over the rifles. It doesn’t stop him from waking up at dawn, or from trotting down to Pauling’s office to get her going for the day. She’s actually asleep in the cot for once, which makes him feel bad about having to wake her. But she’s made it clear she wants to be awake when he is, even if she’s only been asleep for an hour or two. 

 

“Miss Pauling, it’s morning.”

 

“Mmmhm, okay, okay.” She groans, and pushes herself upright. The bags under her eyes have deepened. “Thank you Scout. Coffee?”

 

He hands her the mug, still steaming hot, and she chugs it with the single-minded resolve of a soldier fixing to go back on the battlefield. She passes it back, and he refills it. It takes three mugs before she stands. He makes sure she has what she needs, and then heads back to his own long list of things to do. He spends the rest of the day finishing up the weapons cache, ensuring everything is restocked and ready for whenever the team comes back. The butterfly knife in his pocket is the last one he deals with, sharpened to a lethal edge and tucked back in his pocket without comment.

 

_ Ensure all vehicles are primed and ready to go for evac or mobilization. _

 

_ Check all entrances/exits; clear out old rubble. _

 

_ Tidy up bases. Patch and repair as needed. _

 

And there is more, much more beyond that, and it’s so easy to get lost in the work, to forget the troubles plaguing him. Scout repairs and fixes and drags and breaks while Pauling knocks back whiskey and coffee like its going out of style and tidies up the office and makes her own kingdom out of the bones of the Administrator’s. Every day he and Pauling weave another miracle out of the mess, and at the end of every day they talk about what still needs to happen. 

 

“I’m glad I have you here Scout,” she says to him, one day while they’re taking a break between discussing blueprints for new buildings and filing paperwork for more funding.

 

He’s chewing on the last bit of a sandwich, playing with the butterfly knife that hasn’t left his possession even after all this time. He’s still no Spy, but he’s gotten good at handling it. “Glad to be here. Besides the blueprints and the funding, how are we coming along?”

 

She lets out a breath. “We’re… actually almost back to where we were before this whole mess. Granted we don’t have any more Australium, which is… well, it would be nice to have.”

 

It’s probably poetic justice, Scout thinks. “Yeah well, the rest of the world doesn’t have any either, so we’re all starting on the same page at least.”

 

“True. But besides these two things, and whatever’s left on your list, we’ve basically got things handled. So I think I’m going to go ahead and send word to the team to start heading back this way.”

 

Something lurches in Scout’s gut. An unpleasant reminder that despite what he’s accomplished here, he still has another long work in progress ahead of him. “Yeah.”

 

Pauling evidently knows the truth, if the soft, nearly apologetic look she gives him is any indication. “If you want, I can ask them to send me tabs of where they are, so we can get an estimate of when they’re going to arrive.”

 

It’s the best she can do without showing favoritism; he swallows down the tightness in his throat, and nods. “Yeah. Gotta make sure the base is ready and up to snuff before then. Thanks.”

 

“Of course.”

 

It’s all excuses, made to delay the inevitable. But it’s an excuse Scout appreciates. 

 

It marks the end of his carefree working days. From that point on, his mind is occupied with ways to handle the situation from sunrise to sunset. Even as he talks to Pauling and gets the last few things cleared up, gets the base looking nice and tight again, he finds the anxiety running through him getting worse.

 

And then between one day and the next Spy is back on base, and Scout has no more time to strategize, only time to act. 

 

0-0-0-0-0-0

 

He probably should have seen this coming. Spy likes to give no warning as to where he’ll be at any given moment, only suddenly appear. Why would his coming back to base be any different?

 

The only consolation is that Pauling is manage to get ahold of him before he actually sees the man.  _ “Spy is back on base,”  _ she says, and even over the phone her voice sounds tense.  _ “I know...I know it’s been a while. But you should try to mend things. Turn over a new leaf.” _

 

For all intents and purposes, she’s talking about the hostility that’s brewed between them for two years. But Scout knows what she’s actually saying, and it makes him feel like he gets right before a big fight between them and Red - the queasiness in his gut, the anxiety in his bones, the urge to run and keep running and not fucking stop because if he stops he’s  _ dead. _

 

Speed isn’t what he needs here, though. Caution is. So he nods, says, “I’ll give ‘er the old college try. Thanks Miss Pauling,” and hangs up. 

 

And then he goes to find Spy.

 

He walks carefully, and rattles his brain as he goes. He has a limited number of moves to make, a limited window before Spy shuts him down. He has to make it count. Has to make the words count enough to make the man willing to talk to him, or at least acknowledge him. Small steps. But he has to make  _ some  _ form of progress. Because if he doesn’t--

 

Spy is in the main room, sitting in one of the chairs, smoking as he reads the paper. Scout stops a few steps short, and takes in a deep breath. 

 

_ Ma loves him, and he loves Ma. Just because you don’t like how he’s handled all of this doesn’t mean you get to be an ass about it. Take a deep breath, and treat this like a bomb. A very, very tricky bomb. Gentle, Jeremy, gentle.  _

 

He walks into the room.

 

Spy knows he’s there, and probably has known he’s been here. That’s fine. “Welcome back,” Scout calls. He walks over to the desk, busies himself like he came in to grab something. “When you got a moment, Miss Pauling’s got some intel she thinks you could use. Take your time though, she probably won’t be ready for at least a good coupla hours yet.”

 

He doesn’t expect Spy to speak, or even acknowledge him. But when he glances over, the man’s dropped the newspaper a couple of inches, and is watching him over the top. “And  _ how  _ would you know that?”

 

The man’s voice sends a fissure of anxiety through his gut.  _ Easy Scout. Baby steps, remember? Baby steps.  _ “Ah, I stayed behind when you guys left. Been helping her around the base, ‘n like. You know, passing the time. She’s got her routines--”

 

The newspaper is folded up, and Spy’s entire focus is on him.  _ Shit, shit, I fucked up-- _

 

“I think I will see her now, if she does not have her complaints. Given the changes I have seen, I think it would be best to be  _ shown _ her new location,  _ non? _ ”

 

It’s a test. In a second, Scout knows Spy knows what he’s doing - and he’s being  _ tested.  _ Tried. Spy is pushing, looking for weakness in his resolve. Whatever happened while they were seperated, the hesitate shyness of before is gone. Now there is resolve in Spy, just as there is resolve in Scout.

 

The question is whether the resolve pushes them in the same direction, or if Spy’s angling for something different.

 

He shrugs. “Yeah, alright. Lemme give her a heads up real quick, and I’ll show you. Have you seen the new buildings yet?”

 

No reply. Scout dials Pauling’s number. She picks up on the first ring.  _ “Scout?”  _ She sounds nervous, bless her. Like she isn’t watching him through the cameras. 

 

“Yo, sorry to interrupt, but ah, Spy wants to get that intel now. You got time?”

 

_ “Of course! Um. Send him up. You know where I am?” _

 

“Yeah, yeah, no worries. Anything I should let him know about while we walk?”

 

_ Start walking, idiot,  _ he thinks, and does so. Spy’s already put the paper down and on his feet again, gaze still on his back, hands in his pockets. 

 

_ “No, I’ll tell him everything when he gets here. Maybe just… see if he needs anything?” _

 

More talking, then. He nods. “Yeah, aight. We’ll be up in a bit.” He hangs up. “She says hello.”

 

Spy hums, and Scout kind of wants to smack himself because  _ really?  _

 

_ Don’t do this to yourself, man,  _ he thinks.  _ Don’t trip up. We’ve got this. Small steps, and don’t aim for the face.  _

 

“Why did you stay behind?” Spy asks, a minute or two later. “Your mother would have been happy to see you.”

 

He very nearly trips over his feet.  _ So, that’s what he’s angling for,  _ he thinks.  _ Ironic. I’m over here trying to be delicate, and for once he’s the one trying to be blunt. _

 

Still. Ticking time bomb. “Yeah, but I had some shit to work out. Figured it’d be best if I stayed and worked it out instead of going home and ruining everyone’s day.”

 

Spy says nothing to that immediately. It feels weird for Scout - he’s come into this expecting to have to pussyfoot around. It almost feels like ripping wounds open to go at this so bluntly. Still, if this makes things better for his Ma, for Spy, then--

 

“And did you?” the words are so soft he barely hears them. He turns his head, and makes the mistake of meeting Spy’s gaze.

 

“Work it out?” he asks, throat dry. Spy nods. He turns back around before that gaze burns right through him. “...still a work in progress. You’ll be the first to see how it turns out.”

 

The rest of the walk to Pauling’s office is done in silence. Scout can’t even muster up the energy to want to say anything - with Spy behind him, he’s suddenly been made aware of how deeply vulnerable he is against the man who shares blood with him. Spy knows how to hide himself, hide his sore spots. But Jeremy? Jeremy can’t hide shit if his life depends on it.

 

The door is open, and Pauling is pretending to be as busy as Scout was earlier. “Oh, welcome back Spy! How was your vacation?”

 

“It was enlightening.” He clasps her hand firmly in his own, and turns it over to press a kiss to her knuckles. “Scout tells me he has been helping you with our base?”

 

“Yep. Which brings me to--”

 

Scout zones out for a little bit here, simply because it’s all things he helped Pauling with earlier, and he knows each of them like the back of his hand. He keeps an ear open for Spy’s criticisms, but there aren’t nearly as much as he expects. There are a couple points about windows and walls being too open, or lacking sufficient cover, but they’re easily fixed points. Pauling’s eyes flick to him periodically whenever something comes up, and Scout just nods. He’ll get it going today - he’s got enough materials to build a few covers, and everything else will come in on the next order. Of course knowing his luck by that point, he’ll have to start patching holes in the walls and whatnot…

 

Pauling clears her throat, and Scout snaps back to attention. Thankfully, the throat-clearing isn’t strictly directed at him this time. “So, that’s you up to speed then. As it is, we’ve had a few renovations, so the rooms are good as new now. You’re free to pick a different one if you would like. Scout, did you--”

 

“Yeah, when I did--”

 

“--oh that’s right, I recall. Thank you, Scout.”

 

Spy watches this exchange with a blank face, but Scout can practically hear the wheels turning in his head. He runs a hand over his face. “I’ll get started on the covers tonight then. Can you run the order again, and make sure we have enough patching and repair materials coming back? ‘Cause knowing my luck, soon as I get all this up, I’m gonna be fixing ‘em again.”

 

“Why not leave that to the Engineer, when he returns?” Spy asks. 

 

“Because I built it, I fix it?” Scout offers, shrugging. “Just makes it easier on everyone, and keeps me outta your hair for a bit. What more could you want?”

 

“I’ll check the list,” Pauling acknowledges. “In the meantime, go ahead and get settled in Spy. Scout, I’ll notify you when another one shows up.”

 

It’s a dismissal, and Scout hits the ground outside the office at a dead run. He thinks he hears Spy say something, but his nerves are fried and he’s ready to do  _ anything  _ that will avoid putting him into contact with the man for at least an hour. With any luck, Spy’s gotten whatever information he was looking for, and he’s now willing to fuck off for the rest of the night. 

 

Except things can never be that simple where Spy is concerned.

 

He’s making measurements for the blinds, muttering numbers to himself when he feels the eyes on the back of his neck. Part of him wants to twitch, but a much larger part of him wants this  _ done  _ so he can call it a day, so he ignores the sensation and keeps marking the spots where the wood needs to be cut. 

 

Two blinds in, he’s sweating like mad. Off goes his shirt and cap. He yanks the final knot into place, and drops the cover over the box. There. Sniper’s second paradise has now been built.

 

He builds the third, fourth and fifth without pause, and steps back to admire the work. “That should hold,” he mumbles. “Assuming Pyro doesn’t decide the new kindling needs a bit of flame added.”

 

Yawning, he goes and swipes his shirt back, dusting it off before throwing it back on. It’s one of his older uniforms, more ragged and worn, perfect for this kind of business. The cap he stows in his back pocket, because he’s too sweaty to be wearing one, and the sun is behind him now. 

 

He treks back to his own room - with the renovation and addition of the rooms, he’s been allowed to pick whatever one he’s wanted to call his own. He’s picked one of the new ones, out away from the main base. A quick shower and a bite to eat later, he’s asleep on the couch. 

 

He thinks he hears the door open; he’s left it creaky for that exact reason. But when he listens, there’s no follow-up sound like someone coming in, so he dismisses it and goes right back to bed.

 

(You’d think he’d learn.)

 

He wakes up earlier than normal, and finds the letter and the pictures as he’s going into the kitchen to get coffee.

 

There’s a note on the front in handwriting he doesn’t recognize, but the lack of signature and the familiarity of the note gives it away.

 

_ I wish to send these back home. Tell me if there is any you do not want her to see. _

 

The letter is encoded. Jeremy rolls his eyes and pushes it off to the side. The pictures--

 

_ Oh.  _

 

The pictures are of  _ him.  _ Around base. Two years worth of secret photos, of a life beyond a little rugrat back in Boston. This is  _ Scout.  _ Him laughing with the guys, him seconds before his bat hits someone in the face, him screaming, him yelling at something, him climbing and running and--

 

There are even photos from  _ yesterday.  _ Him, shirtless and red from the sun, tearing at boards and snarling at nails. For a moment, he actually finds it hard to believe the person in the photos is  _ him,  _ because the last time Scout looked in the mirror he didn’t have those muscles or that gleam in his eye. He didn’t look like… like…

 

He swallows. He’s wondered what Spy looked like underneath that cap of his for a while. He thinks this is… pretty close to it. Maybe not as young, probably with some gray or silver hairs. Taller. Leaner. If he focuses, he thinks maybe he can see it. He huffs out a breath. 

 

“Yeah,” he mumbles, gently gathering the photos up and tucking them back into the envelope. “Yeah, that’ll work, stabby bastard. That’ll work.”

 

_ Baby steps,  _ he said.  _ Truth,  _ he’d meant. It’s a long road, a hard one. There’s gonna be complications. Disagreements. Violence, even. But. 

 

Spy’s accepted the olive branch, and extended one of his own. Scout’s not about to turn that down -  _ Jeremy  _ isn’t either. He rubs sweaty palms over his pants, and grins down at the envelope. 

 

“Sentimental bastard.”

 

But he’s happy. God, he’s happy.


End file.
